Chapter 336: Testing Knife Skills: A Surgeon’s Trial

“People recommended by Zhou Can always deliver!”

Dr. Hu Kan already trusted Zhou Can deeply, but now, after seeing a glimpse of Jin Mingxi’s steady hand with the scalpel, he looked genuinely pleased.

“Have you ever actually handled a scalpel on the operating table?”

“I have! But it was only for minor level-one or level-two surgeries,” Jin Mingxi answered honestly.

“Good. Very good.”

Dr. Hu Kan nodded, hands trembling as he pulled out a sheet of A4 paper and folded it in half twice.

Then he opened his desk drawer and took out a brand new scalpel and a pack of blades.

“Attach the blade and let me see your technique.”

It’s rare to see someone test surgical skills using A4 paper.

Once Jin Mingxi fitted the blade, he looked to Dr. Hu Kan for the next step.

“Zhou Can, draw a straight 5cm line for him.”

Dr. Hu Kan’s hands shook badly—if he tried drawing a straight line, it’d end up looking like a wavy squiggle. Even a top chief physician would struggle to meet such strict incision standards.

Zhou Can drew a line about five centimeters long.

He’d trained in drawing, so his straight lines looked as if they’d been traced with a ruler.

“Alright, go ahead and cut. Just open the top layer along the line.”

Dr. Hu Kan’s requirement was pretty harsh, but for a top cardiothoracic chief like him, this was just basic technique.

Hearing the challenge, Jin Mingxi faltered a little.

“Come on, Old Jin, just do your thing. Don’t you practice steady-hand technique every day? Just do what you always do,” Zhou Can cheered him on.

If they couldn’t help Dr. Hu Kan find a worthy successor today, they’d probably be stuck here all night.

Finding a trainee for Dr. Hu Kan and helping a good friend get a great opportunity—two birds, one stone.

Jin Mingxi bit his lip, took two steady breaths, then composed himself. He gripped the scalpel tightly, eyes turning sharp and focused. Pressing the blade down on the paper, he pulled it steadily along Zhou Can’s line.

His speed was neither fast nor slow, steady as ever.

This wasn’t an exceptional performance, but at least it was his normal best.

He finished the line and lifted his wrist, pulling the scalpel away.

“Peel off the top layer,”

Dr. Hu Kan instructed evenly.

After unfolding the first layer, a faint blade mark showed on the second. Overall, not bad at all—at least he hadn’t cut through to the second sheet.

“Not bad,”

Dr. Hu Kan’s voice, though, didn’t sound especially impressed.

“Zhou Can, draw a 4cm line for him this time.”

Looks like Jin Mingxi was about to face another round of testing.

Zhou Can obliged and drew the new line.

“This time, cut through two layers.”

Dr. Hu Kan turned to Jin Mingxi.

Jin Mingxi had barely scraped by the first round—now, as the test got harder, he couldn’t hide the fear on his face.

It was like standing at the base of a steep cliff. If you don’t have what it takes to climb, anyone would hesitate.

Cutting through two layers is much harder than slicing just one.

Jin Mingxi knew he wasn’t up to it, and it terrified him.

“Old Jin, be bold but careful!” Zhou Can caught a hint of displeasure on Dr. Hu Kan’s face and quickly whispered encouragement.

To be a good surgeon, you need courage. Acting timid will only get you in trouble.

Any senior doctor would just shake their head in disappointment at that.

Dr. Hu Kan’s requirements for a successor were sky-high, and Jin Mingxi’s performance was coming up short. This was looking shaky.

Still, Jin Mingxi had plenty of real-life experience. He had a knack for reading the mood.

Realizing things were dire, he took a deep breath, grasped the scalpel and made another cut along the new line.

This time, he used noticeably more force.

He had no choice—you can’t reach the second layer with a gentle touch. Judging just how much pressure to use was delicate work, a true test of a surgeon’s skill.

“Unfold it! And if I’m not mistaken, you went straight into the third layer.”

Dr. Hu Kan was incredible—he could tell how deep the blade went just by sound.

Jin Mingxi didn’t believe it. He peeled the layers to check for himself.

Suddenly, his face reddened from embarrassment.

Not only had he cut into the third layer, the first part of the second wasn’t properly opened, and the end was too deep—he’d sliced right through to the third and even left a clear cut on the fourth.

If that had been a human patient, this would be a surgical accident.

Many medical students wonder why, in gross anatomy class, they’re told to dissect tissue one layer at a time, no shortcuts. Only when you get hands-on in the OR does that lesson really hit home.

And it’s not just anatomy professors—attending doctors at the hospital insist on the same careful approach.

If you ignore their advice, your surgical privileges can be revoked on the spot.

“No need for further testing. Your basic skills aren’t bad, but your technique and mental resilience fall way short. Based on your performance, you’re not qualified to be my successor. But since Zhou Can spoke for you, I’ll give you a chance. If you want, report to Cardiothoracic Surgery tomorrow and follow me to learn.”

Dr. Hu Kan gave his verdict.

Jin Mingxi lacked mentorship, mostly self-taught. So his fundamental knife skills were decent, but he lacked advanced techniques and experience.

As for psychological resilience, that could only be improved with more hands-on practice—there’s no shortcut.

“I’m willing, thank you! Thank you for this precious opportunity!”

Jin Mingxi and Zhou Can were like brothers. He owed this chance to Zhou Can, but he wasn’t in a rush to express gratitude.

Real friends never say thanks—they pay it back when you need it most.

“Old Jin’s always been hardworking—he just never got the chance he needed. With Dr. Hu Kan’s guidance, I’m sure he’ll catch up fast and make you proud.”

Zhou Can spoke up for Jin Mingxi.

“You’re good with words, but when am I going to see some action? Is it really so hard to accept being my trainee?”

Dr. Hu Kan treated Jin Mingxi and Zhou Can completely differently.

With Jin Mingxi, he was the strict, authoritative chief physician.

But with Zhou Can, he was more like a mentor and friend—far more relaxed.

And when he looked at Zhou Can, the fondness in his eyes was enough to make anyone jealous.

“I’ll pass. This steady-hand technique doesn’t suit me. Besides, Dr. Xu wouldn’t approve.”

Zhou Can shook his head.

“Your skills are way above Jin’s—I don’t believe for a second you’re not qualified. How about a test, just to prove it?” Dr. Hu Kan clearly didn’t buy Zhou Can’s modesty.

“No need. My knife skills are nothing to brag about—I’d just embarrass myself.”

Zhou Can quickly waved his hands, refusing to take the test.

“Don’t worry, I just want to see where your skills stand. Even if you ace it, if you don’t want to be my successor, I won’t force you. Honestly, my main goal is to point out areas where you could improve so you can get even better.”

After hearing that, Zhou Can couldn’t refuse anymore.

He nodded in agreement.

“Draw two lines yourself,”

Dr. Hu Kan instructed Zhou Can.

Zhou Can drew one 5cm and one 4cm straight line.

“Cut one layer and two layers, right?”

He asked to confirm.

“That’s right.”

Dr. Hu Kan nodded.

After getting the go-ahead, Zhou Can picked up the scalpel, his posture lowering slightly, and his entire presence shifted, like a warrior ready for battle.

This kind of surgeon-blade unity, where the person and the knife empower each other, is something you only see in truly elite surgical chiefs.

It showed Zhou Can’s knife technique had progressed well beyond beginner level—he was on the verge of the next stage.

You couldn’t reach this state without serious skill.

Unlike Jin Mingxi, Zhou Can didn’t need to steel his nerves or psych himself up. He just moved, slashing effortlessly—a seemingly casual stroke that neatly split the whole line right down the center.

It was leaps and bounds above Jin Mingxi’s skill.

When Jin Mingxi cut, his lines were uneven, sometimes thicker on the left or right, even drifting outside the marked edge.

Surgery might all seem the same from the outside, but skill makes all the difference.

Amateurs are impressed by the show; experts see the true art.

After dividing the first 5cm line with one smooth slash, Zhou Can didn’t need to pause. He cut the 4cm line just as quickly and precisely.

“That…is that all there is to it?”

Jin Mingxi’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Watching Zhou Can chop vegetables and pigskin in the dorm every night, he never realized just how wide the gap between them was.

How did this guy practice? It made no sense.

Maybe natural talent really does matter more than anyone thinks.

Jin Mingxi racked his brain but could only blame it on talent.

He’d always worked as hard as Zhou Can, but couldn’t afford as many practice veggies—Zhou Can could buy two big bags of radishes a day, Jin Mingxi couldn’t.

So he’d have to cut corners with his supplies.

Living frugally—every med student’s rite of passage. Training might come with a government stipend and a hospital salary, but life still felt pretty tight.

Why were there so many calls in recent years to abolish medical residency?

A family works hard to get their kid into med school, but just when they’re ready to work, the hospital squeezes another three years out of them.

Who can take that?

Hospitals run thanks to the cheap labor of interns and trainees.

It’s a complicated struggle between many sides.

Really, though, it’s mostly about keeping patients safe. No one wants a rookie doctor operating without proper training.

No patient wants to be a trainee’s ‘test subject’.

A seasoned general surgeon could remove a hemorrhoid in fifteen minutes. Put a fresh med grad in there, and they could botch the patient’s backside badly.

Just thinking about it is terrifying.

Even with prescriptions—let a med student write scripts unsupervised, and patients might get sicker or even die.

No patient or family would ever feel safe.

If it got to that point, who’d dare go to the hospital?

“Take a look under the paper,”

Dr. Hu Kan said to Jin Mingxi.

He wanted Jin Mingxi to see the difference for himself.

Jin Mingxi tried peeling back the first sheet to check the 5cm line.

“It didn’t cut through to the second sheet, not even a hint of a mark. But the first sheet doesn’t look cut through,” he said, finding a little comfort in thinking maybe the gap between him and Zhou Can wasn’t so big.

Maybe their skills weren’t as far apart after all.

“Look again—closely,”

Dr. Hu Kan smiled knowingly.

Zhou Can didn’t need to say a word.

Now, when Zhou Can works on patients, his sense for the scalpel is so sharp he can feel exactly how deep he’s cut and what tissue he’s touching.

The moment the blade touches a vessel wall, he knows it instantly.

So when he operates, accidental cuts into other organs or crucial tissue basically never happen.

That ability actually puts him above most attending surgeons.

Curious, Jin Mingxi bent the paper—and, unbelievably, the spot that looked untouched split perfectly apart, revealing a clean gap.

He sucked in a cold breath.

“That’s insane!”

Only now did he realize the real gap between himself and Zhou Can.

It was like comparing earth and sky—not even close to what he’d imagined.

“The mark of true skill is when the incision is invisible to the naked eye, yet the tissue is cleanly divided. Even with paper, you can see Zhou Can’s technique has hit a high standard,”

Dr. Hu Kan explained, mostly for Jin Mingxi’s benefit.

He wanted Jin Mingxi to understand what mastery really looked like.

“Check the 4cm cut now,”

Jin Mingxi looked—the 4cm line was just as precisely sliced, a perfect split along the center. If you didn’t bend the paper, you’d never see it was cut.

He bent the first layer, then the second—both were sliced perfectly.

Then he checked for marks on the third layer.

He could barely see the faintest of lines—almost invisible.

“Now do you see the difference between you and Zhou Can?”

“I get it. His knife skills are monstrously good—I’m at least a few years behind,” Jin Mingxi lowered his head, ashamed.

“Recognizing that gap is good. Realizing your shortcomings is the first step to growth,” Dr. Hu Kan nodded. He eyed Zhou Can again. “Zhou Can, ready to step up the challenge? Try cutting three layers at once.”

“Right now, I can only reliably cut through two layers. I could probably manage three, but I’d never risk it in surgery,” Zhou Can said, though he was pretty sure he could handle three in practice.

He wouldn’t damage the fourth layer.

But even a 1% risk of failure was too much to try on a real patient.

“Dr. Xu’s students are something else—no one’s stricter about safety than you,” Dr. Hu Kan couldn’t help but admire him. “That’s fine. You’ve always been modest, no sense making you test further. Your skills are already outstanding, but from watching you earlier, there’s still room for improvement. For example, you have a habit of dragging the blade as you finish.

Because Zhou Can moves so fast when finishing a cut, he’s naturally picked up this dragging habit.

Like if he’s cutting a 4cm line, he’ll finish at 3.7cm and drag the last 0.3cm. With good control, it’s usually fine, but there’s always risk.

The rapid technique has to be both quick and precise—no technique is flawless.

Truthfully, every style—fast, slow, or precise—has its own strengths and weaknesses.

The goal is to keep those weaknesses within safe bounds and never endanger the patient—that’s what Zhou Can strives for.

“Yeah, that habit’s not great. Do you have any tips to help me correct it?”

Zhou Can asked humbly.

Fixing a flaw like that would only help him improve.

“Breaking that habit completely is tough for someone trained in speed, but there are some methods that can help,” Dr. Hu Kan replied.